


Nothing to gain, nothing to lose

by Talimee



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Friendly Bickering, I'm taking my male dunmer OC, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Worldbuilding, additional warnings: swearing and a moody elven adolescent, and still hope to write something good and original, crank the clichés up to eleven, fix-it-fic for some open questions and things that were bugging me in the game, rewrite of a story originally posted on ff.net, who is also involved with the Dark Brotherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talimee/pseuds/Talimee
Summary: Dancing around each other the Hero of Kvatch and the future Emperor have more than one crisis on their hands they need to resolve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the few days before the Battle of Bruma.  
> Martin is searching for help to get the Amulet of Kings back and Ulwen Hlervu is, more or less, his errant boy. I tried to give more space to personal decisions of the NPCs which were important for this part of the game and to people who play an important role but aren't pictured enough like Jauffre or the Blades.  
> Actually the percieved contradiction between Martin's decision to lead the Battle of Bruma and his known importance for the continuity of Tamriel is what triggered this particular plot-bunny for me, oh so many years back.
> 
> Also: English is only my second language and I am always glad to have mistakes or odd word-choices pointed to me. =)

Baurus had already gone to bed – a sign for the lateness of the hour – but Captain Steffan was still at his post outside the Emperor's bedchamber. He nodded curtly and stepped aside as the Hero of Kvatch approached. Night-time visits to the Heir of the Septim Throne were a common sight nowadays and after a very pointed speech of Martin's on behalf of his friend none of the Blades dared interfere any more when the adventurer came to see him. This didn't prevent some of the more prejudiced Blades to grip their sword-hilts whenever Ulwen Hlervu visited, but the Dunmer couldn't care less. In the last months he had survived more and worse danger than a group of fanatic war-monks could pose and he was sure that, given the right time and place, none of the inhabitants in Cloud Ruler Temple proved a challenge any more.

Not since Oblivion or the King of Miscarcand.

„Seems you've had a rough journey, sir“, remarked Steffan friendly enough as he drew the door to Martin's bedroom aside.

Ulwen snorted in sort of an answer and couldn't resist: „But I am alive – unlike every Blade who visited the Shrine to Tiber Septim in recent years. Get someone to fetch my saddlebags; the armour's in there“, he added with icy loftiness.

He was tired beyond endurance, still bleeding in some places and he was angry again – as he had been every time he visited Cloud Ruler Temple since trying to retrieve the Amulet of Kings from the Mythic Dawn. And since Steffan was here he got the butt-end of Ulwen's anger. But the Captain was not only older in years but also in the ways of the world; so he just nodded again and let Ulwen through.

The Dunmer youth shut the door and was instantly surrounded by murky darkness and the sounds of sleep. He thought about waking Martin up crossed his mind, but he reconsidered. There was nothing on his mind that couldn't wait a few hours. And he needed to cool down. So, he slipped what little baggage he had from his shoulders, his weapons, too, and slumped onto one of the benches that lined the room's walls.

*

He was startled awake by a hand on his shoulder. „Gods damn it”, he cursed as the sudden movement tore through one of the barely closed wounds on his back. The pain was hot-white and excruciating. „Why did you wake me?“ he snarled at Martin through clenched teeth. In the gloomy pre-dawn Martin's features were nothing more than a shimmering blur.

„You were snoring“, the future Emperor answered and went to light some candles. Darkness fled to the outer corners of the room but the light did little to raise Ulwen's mood.

„Excuse me!“, he exclaimed. „Everywhere else is full and I'm not camping in the Great Hall like some outcast beggar.“

„I wouldn't have it that way, anyway, but you could've woken me –“

„And where's the sleep in that?“

„... could have woken me and taken my bed, instead“, Martin finished patiently. „I wrestled with a very difficult passage in the Mysterium Xarxes yesterday and went to bed early – out of frustration I have to add.“ He grinned sheepishly.

Ulwen felt like an idiot but that wasn't new. He felt like an idiot most times when Martin was around. „I brought the armour“, he said to fill the growing silence between them.

„This is great news, indeed! The armour of Tiber Septim himself.“ Martin grinned. „I had to promise Jauffre not to destroy it. The Blades are as touchy as priests about relics of Talos but I need only a scraping of the blood therein for the Mysterium Xarxes ritual.“

Satisfaction about his completed mission had washed away hours ago and left him empty, so all Ulwen could do was to sit quietly through Martin's joyous outburst. „So, what else do you need?“, he asked when the man had finished.

„Another thing I deciphered as essential for the ritual is a Great Welkynd Stone,“ Martin said. „You may have come across the lesser Welkynd Stones which can sometimes be found in Ayleid ruins, but a Great Welkynd Stone is a completely different matter.“

Recognition dawned on Ulwen's mind as he thought about the great stone he had found in the bowels of Miscarcand. He has had it for some time now, but every time he wanted to sell it or even let someone else have a look at it the thing had mysteriously disappeared from his knapsack only to reappear in later hours in some fold of the cloth or a pocket which Ulwen had not known before. Which was remarkable alone for the fact that the stone was nearly two feet long and emitted a whitish-blue glow.

„Due to their extreme value for magicians and cultists most of these stones have been plundered,“ Martin went on. „Only in Miscarcand it is rumoured that a Great Welkynd Stone may still can be found and many adventurers, it is said, have lost their life in search for it.“

„Hang on“, Ulwen said and turned around to his bags. To his surprise this time the stone was already there, lying on top of everything else as if it wanted to be seen. „I think I already got the stone.“ He turned back an presented it to the amazed Martin.

„By the Nine! You truly are a wonder! Not only the Hero of Kvatch but the Master of Miscarcand as well!“ He stopped as Ulwen raised his hand in alarm.

„Don't say that!“, the Dark Elf ushered. „There's only one Master in Miscarcand and …“ He stopped. He could not bring himself to admitting his fear that the King of Miscarcand, the sneaking, silently stalking, hunting nightmare of a Lich was still on his trail. He _had_ killed the undead king, hadn't he? He shuddered. „... well,“ he finished lamely, „it's preposterous to say such things – you should know about that.“

Martin raised one eyebrow but did not remark on it. „Still, I'm indebted to you, my friend. I can only guess what you must have been through and I thank you for your efforts.“ He gingerly took the stone from Ulwen and headed towards the door. „Wait here, I'll be back in a moment with some food and hot water“, he said over Steffan's „Good morning, my Lord“ and vanished down the corridor. The Blade and the Dunmer exchanged a look, then the latter spotted his saddlebags lying next to the door frame and blushed in embarrassment. _'I'm an utter s'wit, aren't I?'_ , he asked himself and drew the door close again.

A few minutes later he swore under his breath again as he tried to dispatch various items of armour from his body. Up until now he had gladly forgone heavy stuff like steel or iron, but now, hopping on the spot, trying to shake loose the Saviour's Hide, which clung on to his shoulder blade, he could see the merit of an armour that held its shape on its own and did not  _ stuck to the skin or recently gained wounds.  _ Damn it all! His bad mood was back and screaming for someone's head.

„If you need help, just say the word“, came a dry voice from behind.

Ulwen jumped and turned around. Martin had returned and brought with him not only food and wine, but Cyrus, who was carrying a steaming basin and some towels. His dangling armour momentarily forgotten Ulwen crossed his arms – or tried to – and glowered darkly at the Blade as he stepped through and set the water down on the bench nearest to the mer.

„Thank you, Cyrus. You may go“, Martin said quietly and waited for the Blade to exit the room.

Several seconds passed. „I  _ hate _ that gods-damned smug fetcher“, Ulwen burst out. „And his guts!“ Martin laughed.

„You should've seen yourself.“

„That's got nothing to do with it“, growled Ulwen and, pride momentarily hurting more than backside, decided to get rid of his armour the hard way. The next minute was spend in teaching Tamriel's future Emperor some of the more colourful phrases in his native dunmeri.

„You know, you _could_ have asked for help“, Martin said quietly as he took the Saviour's Hide from him. Ulwen noted how he avoided looking at the hideous face that adorned the armour.

„You know how it is ...“, he said lamely as the silence between them grew thicker. He dabbed at a scratch on his forearm.

„You and your pride“, sighed the priest.

„It's the only thing I've got“, replied the elf.

„Here, let me handle your back“, said Martin evasively and turned Ulwen around into the light. „These look horrible!“

„Probably poisoned as well, wouldn't stop bleeding“, boasted Ulwen and asked himself afterwards why he even bothered.

„They're going to be some nasty scars in any way. Something to show off with the ladies.“

 _'What ladies?'_ , Ulwen felt inclined to ask, but kept silent as he felt a slight pressure as Martin pushed the worst cut close and spoke some words of healing. The priest gently washed the fresh scar afterwards and the pain subsided to a tingling and then a slight itch.

„You have much more than your pride, my friend“ Martin said quietly. „You're famous – the Hero of Kvatch – and some of the treasure you've found on your travels is worth more than a small town. You're wealthy; you've got a house in Chorrol, now.“

„And a shack in the Waterfront.“

„People admire you. You've got comrades and friends.“

„And more enemies than I can count.“

Ulwen felt Martins exasperation more than he heard it in the priest's huff and stepped away from his still caring hands. But Martin wouldn't let go.

„You accomplished a lot, my friend. That is something you can take pride in.“

„I couldn't care less about all that rubbish!“, snarled Ulwen and turned around to face the priest. Martin had a withdrawn, cautious look as if he was dreading what the young Dunmer might have to say, but feared answering to it first in case of bringing it up. „It's worth nothing to me! There's only one thing I want and everything I did since closing that damned Oblivion gate in Kvatch and everything I will do henceforth is only to get  _ that thing _ !“

„Which I cannot give you“, Martin said quietly.

„Cannot or will not?“, asked Ulwen equally quiet. He took a step forward and rested his hands on Martins shoulders. The priest did not flinch away, nor did he resist as the young Dunmer drew him nearer. „Have you never given that to anyone, my sanguine brother?“

Martin's eyes glazed over, became distant for a second and then turned into mirrors which didn't betray any emotion. „We all have our secrets“, he said.

Ulwen pushed himself away, disgusted with the carefully impassioned mask he saw. It was terrifying what changes had already come over the man he had rescued from Kvatch. Martin had been free and open with his feelings: relief and gratitude at being saved from the besieged chapel in Kvatch, insecurity at being greeted as Emperor by the Blades. Despite everything Ulwen had done to harden himself against the world, Martin's unrestricted honesty with his emotions had moved him.

And yet, unstoppable as a lava-flow Martin had changed and learned to weigh his words twice before speaking his mind; as the future ruler of a continent of dissented people even the slightest weakness could be his downfall.

Ulwen wanted nothing more than to claw away that shell until he found the passionate man again.

„Let me share one of my secrets“, he said and his smile was ferocious and grim.

„There's no need for –„

„Why do you think I was in that cell the day your father died?“ The façade cracked and Ulwen knew Martin remembered his father – the farmer of course, he had never known the other one.

„I choose to think it was because the Gods placed you there.“

„Is that going to be the official textbook version?“, Ulwen replied with cutting sarcasm and, as if reading an invisible Black Horse Courier, he said in a sing-song voice: „Hero of Kvatch placed in prison by the Nine themselves! Famous saviour of the Empire found innocent of all charges against him – Chancellor Ocato investigating legal matters himself.“ He let his arms fall to the side and spat dryly. “History is made by the winners, eh?”

„My friend –“

„ _I killed someone!_ It was a brawl that got out of hand and I still don't know whether it was my blast or someone else's – but I wanted that fetcher dead, and he burned to cinders, so by all means I was in prison by right.“

„I know that!“, Martin hissed with a touch of heat in his voice. „I saw the records – Cyrus makes a point of letting them lying around – but I will say to you now what I have said to him: It doesn't matter! In time of the greatest need you, and you alone, decided to risk your life for a cause that wasn't yours and saved me. I don't care whether there is a divine plan that pushes us hither and thither – it was _your_ choice to grip your sword and close that cursed gate. That has redeemed you in my eyes a hundred times over.“

Ulwen didn't know what to say. He took one step back and sat down heavily on a bench. Ever since he had left Vvardenfell, no, ever since becoming aware of the difference between himself and everyone else in his house, he had longed for acceptance. Always striving for it, always fearing to never really belong. And this priest granted something so precious to him just because of a thing done at a whim?

Ulwen wanted to belong so very very much.

„The night grows old“, Martin said unexpectedly. „Sleep for a while and we'll talk later. There's some bread and smoked venison on that plate. I'll be in the Great Hall, toiling away on that wretched book.“ He smiled fleetingly and fled the room. Ulwen watched the door close and exhaled with a groan. He'd blown it all. Again. He took some choice moments to call himself a prick, then let his body take over: washing, eating and sleeping were all equally done and even remotely satisfying.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his words Martin didn't go to the Great Hall but whisked through the barracks and out of the castle to clear his head in the cold night air. Most Blades were still asleep, but the night shift was as alert as ever: Jena guarding the entrance, Achilles patrolling along the battlements and another Blade, Roliand maybe, gazing ever vigilant onto the road towards Bruma. The sun had not yet climbed over the eastern mountains and the temperatures were still very cold, but the freezing air was clear and invigorating to his mind, which swam with fragments of the Mysterium Xarxes, snippets of lore and textbooks and over all thoughts about Ulwen Hlervu.

This Dunmer was going to be the death of him. Such a wild and fey being!

Martin swore silently and started a brisk walk along the battlements to vent off some of his restless energy and to keep himself warm in the perpetual cold. He had not the slightest idea what had triggered the latest outburst of his friend. Surely, Ulwen had no reason to take offence in the fact that Martin was asleep when he returned from his mission to Tiber Septim's temple and final resting place in Sancre Tor?! So, what ailed the boy?

Martin grumbled and corrected his last thought to: What ails the boy _today_? Ulwen constantly re-drew the thin line around himself, and was prone to flare up when someone crossed it, and Martin found himself tiptoeing around his friend's temper. Yet, he valued his company as one of the few, if not the only, person who was unafraid to show his true feelings around the future Emperor.

Having command was a lonely life and even more so for those who had it thrust upon them unexpectedly. Martin found himself wishing, sometimes, in the middle of the night, when he could justify it in front of himself, to be back at Kvatch as a simple priest, or back at his father's homestead, being once more the gritty, boorish brat with common concerns and the freedom of a life without consequence.

He stood for a moment and reflected on that wishful thinking – and the possibilities a life like that would bring – before his thoughts returned to the last hour and what Ulwen had offered, again.

He resumed his walk.

He shouldn't have told Ulwen about the Sanguine Rose, but he had been so surprised to see the staff in the mer's hands that it had just slipped out. Thank the gods, they had been alone at that time; he would have hated it if Jauffre and the Blades knew that the man they had sworn to protect against the Daedric threat had been involved with those very creatures in his youth. Naturally, as a student of the arcane arts he had come into contact with Conjuration magic – and been quite successful at that, too – but actual Daedric worship was something even the Mages Guild frowned upon.

But guild-rules had been tiresome and he had lusted for adventure.

Holding the staff in his hands, years after he had possessed it the first time, had been very disturbing. As if a small hatch in his mind had come loose and suddenly Sanguine's voice was with him again – or was it the effect of the Xarxes, which seemed to enhance everything that was daedric? Even after grinding the Rose to powder he felt the pull of longing which, once planted by Sanguine, never fully left.

Martin smiled ruefully as he remembered his self-imposed celibacy. People in Kvatch had thought him a saint, wholly engrossed with the faith and his service to Akatosh but in truth he had been always wanting and never daring, because he could still feel Sanguine's touch in his mind and he _did_ mind the Daedra watching.

„Back to work“, he sighed. He turned around to find Baurus standing a few meters behind him, silently shadowing his every movement. Someone of the night-shift must have alerted his self-proclaimed bodyguard that he was awake and Martin felt a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance at this. Just because he couldn't sleep did not mean that Baurus had to loose sleep as well! If he didn't knew how futile it was he might have had some words about this with either Baurus or Jauffre, but instead he surrendered to the Blade's stubbornness and motioned the Redguard to follow him back into the Great Hall.

 

Midday was not long past when Ulwen Hlervu stepped into the Great Hall. As usual only Martin and Baurus were there: the former reading and the latter standing guard. Jauffre would occasionally wander in and ask whether the future Emperor needed something, but the Blades generally left him alone and spend their free hours practising their art or cajoling in the mess hall.

„What happened there?“ Ulwen pointed towards the round space in front of the fireplace, where some runes had been drawn in reddish-brown ink. Martin looked up from his book, bleary eyed, and turned around to where he was pointing.

„The first step for the ritual: daedric and divine blood mixed together to encircle and separate a small space from the normal world”, Martin said with a croak in his voice and rubbed his eyes. “The Welkynd Stone is positioned in the Mundus-corner of the circle over there.” He motioned lazily in the general direction of the circle, sure in the knowledge that Ulwen had eyes to see for himself. “And I think I've made some progress on the last item.“

He hesitated, half turned to Baurus, then stood up. „Come with me”, he said. “I'd rather tell you in private than provoking Jauffre again.“ Baurus pushed himself away from the pillar he leaned against, but a signal of Martin made him stop. “Please take a break, Baurus”, the priest said before he led Ulwen back to the west wing.

“Why the cloak-and-dagger?”, Ulwen asked when he had stepped back into the room he had vacated only a few minutes earlier.

„Well“, Martin said and closed the door behind them, „as I said, Jauffre and I had a bit of an argument about the fourth item we need and my plan on how to retrieve it.” He paused and grimaced. “Mainly about my plan, to be honest. But you won't like it. Jauffre doesn't like it and the Countess of Bruma certainly won't like it.” Martin hesitated for a moment, maybe waiting for a response. When none came forward but a lifted eyebrow, he continued: “I really should have thought of it sooner: The last thing we need is the opposite of a Great Welkynd Stone – a Great Sigil Stone.“

Ulwen couldn't quite see the problem. „So what?“, he asked and leaned against casually against the bed's footrest. He had enough Sigil Stones gathered to build the fundaments of a house.

„A Great Sigil Stone anchors a Great Oblivion Gate – such as the Mythic Dawn opened at Kvatch“, Martin prompted.

“Ah.” Ulwen said. Then he remembered the missives he had taken from the Mythic Dawn spies' cellar. „You're going to let them follow through with their plan and open a Great Gate at Bruma?“, he added and could not quite disguise the amused disbelief in his voice. That was, until he realized who would be the one to bring Narina Carvain that particular piece of news. “This is insane”, he whispered in dread. “She'll have our hides for this.”

„I know!”, Martin said with force. „I wish there was another way! The thought of endangering a whole city and all of her citizens just for a stone makes my blood run cold but it is our only chance.” Ulwen watched Martin bury his fists in his hair and had to fight down the urge to comfort him. But Martin's distress was pushed aside soon enough by determination as he counted down his arguments. “We cannot force the Mythic Dawn to open a Great Gate elsewhere. They keep coming _here_ although they know that we know of their plans. Their business is with Bruma and they will do whatever they can to achieve their goal.“

“So you're basically advising to get it over with as soon as possible.”

Martin glanced over to him before nodding guardedly. “Yes.”

„Well, at least you will be safe up here“, said Ulwen. He pushed himself away from the bed and started to walk towards the door. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the open window and his stomach took this as an opportunity to remind him that his last meal had been a while away.

Martin went still. „I won't be up here“, he said quietly.

Ulwen froze on the spot. “What.”

Martin raised his hands defensively. „I am their ultimate goal, after all! I can stand my own fights and I _hate_ being holed up here while somewhere else people die in my name.”

Ulwen turned around. “Welcome to life on top of the food-chain”, he scoffed. “Get used to it!”

“No!” Martin's voice was ice and determination. And his eyes burned. “I'm sick of being mollycoddled. I'm sick of being hidden away!”

“But that's the reason for –“

“It was!”, Martin interrupted him. “But now the Mythic Dawn knows that I am here – there is no reason to conceal my presence any longer.”

“It is one thing to declare yourself openly, but another to go into battle …” Ulwen felt his brows knit in confusion but was shaken from his train of thought when Martin gripped his shoulders. He jerked away in surprise and groaned inwardly a split-second later when Martin's face darkened.

“I will not hide away from the decisive battle in this war. I will lead my troops – however small their numbers may be.” Martin's voice was little more than a whisper but it carried the determination to climb mountains for his cause. “If I want to rule this Empire I _have_ to show myself being able to fight for it. I have to start _acting_ like an Emperor.” His tone bore no objection.

Silence grew between them, highlightened by the sounds of jungling armour and clanging swords that drifted up from the courtyard.

„As you wish, my lord,“ Ulwen said at last with the merest hint of scepticism but Martin took him seriously.

„Please, my friend,“ he said and grabbed Ulwen by his upper arms. „I need your understanding and not your obedience so that you can explain to the countess!“

Ulwen stepped out of his grip again and nodded. He felt shaken. „I better get going then“, he said and forced himself to smile. It looked more like a facial cramp, he noticed in the mirror next to Martins bed, but since his usual smile was very strong on the smirking side, Martin didn't notice. „If Narina Carvain wants my insolent self skinned, boiled and roasted, what part would you like to have send to you? Just that I can order ahead?“

„Your head on a stick”, Martin said, grinning with relief.

„As you wish,“ said Ulwen and departed.

Martin waited until the ringing steps down the wooden stair had died away before he walked over to the window and watched his friend mount that great black beast that he insisted on riding. The mare shifted under him with barely controlled power before Ulwen let her loose and galloped down the flight of stairs just to annoy the gate guard who had barely enough time to open the gate for him. 

Martin remembered a talk he had had with Jauffre shortly after his arrival at Cloud Ruler Temple – of his duties and responsibilities as future Emperor. The Grandmaster had tried with painstaking care to outline Martin's future life in the Imperial Palace with all its glories and comforts, especially straining all points he thought interesting for a man in his best years and learned in the magical arts. Martin had listened carefully and tried to envision this life, but living at Cloud Ruler Temple had given him a more precise notion of what was going to come. 

He wasn't even crowned yet and already people outside the walls wanted him dead or were dying in his name. Already, he had become a figurehead and loathed it.

Up to now he had heeded Jauffre's advice and done his best to support their cause otherwise, but the Battle of Bruma was going to be different. He would lead the defence to show his subjects that he was willing to make the same sacrifices as them. He had always been someone who took matters into his own hands and in his youth had more often than not paid dearly for his impatience. Harsh lessons had levelled his mind but he still wanted to be where destiny was unravelling itself, he wanted a part of the action, to be able to affect the outcome of it all and to prove himself worthy … to the world.

*

How anyone could spoil stew was beyond Ulwen's imagination but here he had perfect proof that it was possible. He poked at some roughly diced meat and wondered whether his jaw would cramp before he had chewn down his last bite of stringy flesh or if he should try to swallow it whole and hope he wouldn't choke.

He was, as usual, the only occupant at his table in the mess hall but Achille and the rest of the morning shift were sitting on the next and Ulwen could listen in to their talk, if he wished to. But the barrack-talk of life-long soldiers grew tiresome after the first fifty anecdotes of glorious battles and willing wenches, so he glanced into the fourth volume of „The Real Barenziah“ once in a while that had been lying around on his table, wondering how such an important person in Morrowind's politics could ever have been such a naïve cow.

The talk to Narina Carvain had gone surprisingly well but as the countess had said, living near Cloud Ruler Temple and knowing who one dealt with gave oneself another dimension to think of.

She _had_ shouted, though, when he told her how soon Martin planned to get the Great Gate open. Not sure how many allowances he could make in Martin's name Ulwen had sternly insisted that any rescue and arming plans for Bruma being brought to an end in two days time. Well, his ears were still ringing, but in the end the countess had to yield. Her men could not close the gates forever, so ending the whole Oblivion-Crisis-and-Amulet-of-Kings-business as soon as possible was most desirable for all. Afterwards, they had talked for hours, scheming about how to move as many citizens to safe places without alerting the Mythic Dawn agents which roamed the outskirts of county Bruma. At one point Captain Burd had joined them with a detailed map of the Bruma caverns and other potential escape routes but he had been called away shortly afterwards when a new Oblivion Gate was reported on the road to Pale Pass.

He looked up as someone slumped into the seat across him and was surprised to see Baurus there – alone. Knowing that only some very important business could have led the Blade to leave his post as Martin's ever-present shadow Ulwen pushed his plate to one side and fixed the Redguard with a level stare.

„Mind, if I take a seat?“, Baurus asked as an afterthought and opened two bottles of mead he had brought with him. After a healthy draught he stared fixedly back at Ulwen who hadn't touched his. „It's always down to business with you,“ he complained. „One might wonder why you even come into the mess hall.“

„The food's here and it's warm“, Ulwen answered and made to stand up. He stopped when he saw Baurus' exasperation. „I've had enough small talk for one day“, the mer explained. „And I know that you're not one for pussyfooting either, so let's cut the courtesies.“

„Alright“, Baurus agreed. „I need to speak to you in private, about Martin“, he said in a low voice and added loudly: „I never had the chance so far to thank you properly for your help in the Imperial City, friend. If you're finished eating, why don't you come out with me and I'll show you some moves with the sword?“ He ignored Ulwen's growl and stood up, forcing the young Dunmer to follow his lead into the cold and windy late afternoon.

„Why here?! Why not in the Great Hall, where it's roomy _and_ warm?!“, cried Ulwen and hugged himself as they stood on the small training ground on the battlements. For the occasion of speaking to the countess he had forgone the Saviour's Hide, but wasn't sorry, as the Deceiver's Finery was made from thick velvet and left barely a patch of skin bare. Still, it was late summer in the Mountains and already near freezing point.

Baurus on the other hand, didn't seem to feel the cold in the slightest. „Better remove that coat and vest if you want them to stay clean“, he said levelly and drew his sword, taking a few swings to loosen up. „The things I'm going to teach you can safe your life.“ He grinned mischievously.

Ulwen threw him a look of deepest loathing, but undid the buttons on his coat and vest. The fine linen shirt he wore underneath did nothing to protect him from the cold and he was suddenly very aware of the silly frills around cuffs and neck. „I thought you were going to tell me something important?“, he quipped and drew Chillrend out of her scabbard before dropping it. „And if I may be so bold, _friend_ “, he stretched the word, „as far as I am concerned saving my life means keeping me warm. We're up in the mountains, surrounded by fetching glaciers and there's only one fireplace in the entire castle! Whatever it is you need to get off your chest, could've been said _inside_.“

Baurus snorted at that and grinned. “Y'know, I'm glad you didn't take Grandmaster Jauffre's offer to join the Blades”, he said and lifted his longsword. “'cause otherwise I might have to pull punches.” Ulwen glared at him and they started to circle each other. But Baurus was not done with talking. „First: Martin's working in the Great Hall and we're _not_ going to disturb him.“ He brought his sword down in a wide arc, Ulwen barely needed to lift Chillrend to deflect the attack. „Second: talking whilst training is _normal_ , no one will listen in to us.“ The Blade made a big step forward, undercutting Ulwen's parry and forcing him to jump backwards hastily or risk being cut. „And third: you were quite snotty back in the mess hall, so you're getting what you deserve.“ Baurus launched himself forward, pivoted on the spot and brought his sword down on Ulwen's blade with such force he knocked it right out of his hand. Ulwen swore and bent down to retrieve it.

„You're a natural“, Baurus said dryly. „What do you do in a fight?“

„I run for cover“, spat the youth, „ _then_ I cast a chameleon spell and do them in.“

„Bah! Magic“, the Blade said disdainfully. „This won't do forever: if you have company for example or need to stall your enemy before reaching a certain p – “

„In short, everything we will face at Bruma“, Ulwen interrupted him.

„Exactly.“ Baurus mustered him shrewdly. „You know how to wield a sword, that's for sure, but you have no idea what to do in an all-out-frontal-attack, so let's start with blocking.“

Baurus had been right, after a few minutes Ulwen had quite forgotten the cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the questions that bugged me after I played the game was why Martin insisted on leading the fight at the Great Gate of Bruma.  
> From the game-developer's point it was clear as rain: "Give the player some action and a time-sensitive mission for once."  
> From a narrative point of view it is a giant plothole. If Martin dies, everything is lost, the Dragonfires cannot ever be lit again, the Covenant between the Dragonblood-bloodline and the gods will be forever broken (or at least until some new pal finds the new/old Amulet of Kings on some earthmound. Go read it on the UESP. ;D ) and Deadra and their ilk will roam the lands and not even hope remains for the people of Tamriel.  
> Frustrating. I hope some brave narrative-designer piped up at this point to voice her/his concern with this set-up, pointing out that the time-sensitivity could still be had, just not with Martin on the battlefield, but was eventually silenced into a sugar-coma with a basketball-sized muffin and a big mug of coffee.
> 
> Also: Cloud Ruler is a mainly wooden building located in the High Jeralls. Between snow and glaciers and more snow! With one fireplace? And that one not even in the sleeping quarters? O.o Brrr!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is little more than a long dialogue between Martin and Ulwen. Several issues are shortly mentioned but the main focus is for the two to recognize their mutual attraction and for Martin to slam the brakes on Ulwen's hope.
> 
> There some sentences here, which I am proud of even now, several years after I wrote this first. ^^

 

Martin shut the Mysterium Xarxes with a loud thump and pushed the tome away before he buried his head in his hands. It was irritating, to say the least, to have spent another day poring over its pages when everything for the ritual was ready and all he could do was waiting for the last ingredient to arrive. He felt drained. But he was driven by a fear that made him open the Xarxes again and again, an irrational feeling that he might have overlooked something, a small detail, a scratched-out letter maybe which would change everything and cause the ritual to fail or worse Ulwen to die.

Working with the Xarxes wasn't so much as _reading_ it, but stripping away layer after layer of interwoven daedric and mundane magic, following various threads, pulling here or there to try to get a glimpse of the whole structure and its connections to other structures outside the book. One of the layers was the connection between Mankar Camoran and his Paradise. Martin was pretty sure by now that the Paradise existed only through Mankar Camoran's life-force, draining and refilling each other in an endless circle. The initial force behind the creation of Paradise and of the Xarxes may have been Mehrunes Dagon – Martin could feel the Prince's foul touch all over the book – but since that act of creation the maintaining was done through Camoran himself. Killing the Altmer therefore seemed the best way to destroy his Paradise. But what would happen to Ulwen Hlervu, Martin did not know. He prayed that he would be send back to Cloud Ruler Temple, but prayers, as he had seen in Kvatch, were a thin thread of hope.

He rubbed his tired eyes and stood up. He felt dizzy for a moment and gripped the table to support himself. Enough for today! He longed for some fresh air and company, preferably in that order, so he strode towards the front door of the Great Hall, wondering whether Ulwen had already returned from his counsel with the countess – or if he had been true to his word to have his head sent up, if she chose to roast him over a fire. Knowing the disdainful ways of his favourite Dunmer and the proud and independent ones of Narina Carvain, Martin was sure the talk between them must have been very tense at the least.

The cold air hit him like a hammer and stung his eyes. Incredible! After hours spend indoors, with his mind caught up in Oblivion, he had nearly forgotten that sunlight and fresh air existed. He closed his eyes in delight and basked in simple creature-comforts for a moment, before his attention was drawn away by sounds of cheering. He remained where he stood, unseen for the moment, and watched the last moments of Baurus' and Ulwen's fight. It looked as if the Dunmer was barely holding his ground, but Martin suspected the Redguard was pulling his strikes. Nevertheless, he had the feeling that the laughter and applause after each successful attack were as much in honour of Baurus' sword skills as Ulwen's comments on the fight. Martin knew the youth had cultivated an especially vile string of sarcasm. But soldiers in general seemed to like that, Martin was reminded, when the group of bystanders suddenly errupted into cat-calls and laughter.

It was odd, Martin thought, to see Ulwen spend time with anyone but him. But he seemed to enjoy the company, maybe even the fight it had brought.

Granted, Baurus, loyal and slow to make assumptions about anyone, was one of the more approachable Blades, so Ulwen had always been more relaxed around the Redguard, but had never gone so far as to actually spend time with him.

Jauffre's appearance from the East Wing stalled any further investigation into that matter, though. One sharp word from the Grandmaster broke the small gathering apart, sending the Blades back to their posts and the free shift back into the mess hall. Baurus shot the old Breton an apologetic look, silently communicating something before slipping past his superior, but Martin didn't notice, because Ulwen had just stripped out of his soaked shirt and was wiping his face and neck with it. Coherent thought was much harder all of a sudden.

Martin remained where he stood and watched his friend a moment longer, astonished to see him so utterly relaxed. Even the permanent frown was nearly gone from Ulwen's face, adding for once a soft layer to his sharp and striking features.

 _'This is dangerous'_ , Martin thought, but called himself stupid immediately afterwards. He waited until Ulwen had collected his belongings and then strode out to greet him, slightly breathless and shivering due to the cold.

 

Later they sat in Martin's room.

Night had fallen again and a deep stillness lay over the Temple. Once in a while an orange glimmer passed the window, when a silent sentinel on his endless rounds walked by, guarding the sleeping brothers and sisters inside. They sat in front of a small brazier, glowing red coals spending the only light and warmth in the room.

„I was glad to see you sparring with Baurus today“, said Martin after a lengthy but comfortable silence.

Ulwen's answer was a non-committal shrug. „He's not a better-than-thou-prick as the rest of 'em”, he said dully and added: “And he is genuinely concerned about your safety.“

„They all are – and too much so“, Martin said darkly. “And I know where this is going”, he added in an attempt to get the topic over with once and for all. „Jauffre thinks Baurus is still blaming himself for my father's death and by using _him_ to influence _you_ he hopes to convince _me_ to stay up here. But things won't be safer with me holed up here in Cloud Ruler Temple.“

„I didn't mention any of that“, Ulwen said defensively and threw him a defiant look from under thick eyebrows.

Martin watched him for a minute. Ulwen held Martin's gaze and the man found it hard to look away. „Very well“, he admitted. „You didn't.“

„And I won't“, Ulwen added emphatically. „I still don't like your decision and think it idiotic, but you are your own master and can decide for yourself.“

„Thank you!“ Martin said surprised and pleased. „Too bad you didn't take Jauffre up on his offer to join the Blades. Someone like you in my personal guard would make things much easier for me.“ He said it to show some of the appreciation he held for his Dunmer friend but Ulwen's look darkened before he turned away to stare into the brazier again.

„Do I look like an honourable knight to you?“ he asked in a low voice. The coals' molten fire danced in his blood-red eyes.

„What matters is what you see in yourself“, Martin answered carefully, not knowing where this was going to go. He knew that Ulwen was at odds with himself but he seldom shared any details of himself. He waited.

„I'm not honourable. And I'm not a knight”, the Dunmer said at last. Martin thought to recognize a sort of pride in the young mer's voice, even though his mien was as sullen as always. “That was all my House was about and if I've fitted into that I wouldn't have left Morrowind.“

 _'Redoran!'_ Martin thought surprised. All along he had assumed that Ulwen had been born and bred in Cyrodiil to parents who had left Morrowind in search of a better life away from Temple doctrine and Great House politics. „Do you miss it?“ he blurted out and could have slapped himself the instant the words were out of his mouth.

The signs of hurt which flitted over Ulwen's face were unmistakeable.

„It's tearing me apart“, the youth said after he had taken a deep breath. Already a hint of his usual sneer was back.

„I'm sorry“, Martin said. „It was not my place to ask.“

Ulwen shrugged and continued to stare into the basin.

„You know, you _could_ join my small council“, Martin tried to change to topic, but was immediately interrupted by another snort of his companion.

„I'm a Dunmer, from Morrowind”, Ulwen said with a sarcasm so cutting Martin instantly felt defensive. “And a convicted criminal to boot! People would never agree to someone like me having the Emperor's ear. And even if they could forget, the prejudice against my kin is too great.”

„That is not true!“, Martin said indignantly.

This time Ulwen looked at him with cold pity in his eyes. “Grey-Skin and Ash-Born they called me in the City. I dare you to tell me that they don't think of me as a Daedra-Worshipper of the basest kind, who ravishes half the court before making off with the treasury and the Amulet of Kings to boot.”

Shame and embarrassment burned in Martin at these words. But a small knot of defiance was still there. He opened his mouth to argue that not a--

“Don't tell me that not all people are like that”, snapped the youth and took the words out of his mouth. “I _know_ that! But if your Blades are anything to go by the silent judging will never end. I'm sick of that.”

“They barely know you!”, Martin cut in heatedly. “Give them time and they will grow to respect and like you.”

„I won't stay to find out“, Ulwen shot back.

Fear gripped Martin's heart. He had to fight for breath for a minute, then rasped out: „What do you mean?“

Ulwen continued to avoid his gaze but Martin could see the determined look on his face. „I mean, that …“, he hesitated „… staying close to each other isn't doing any good … to either of us! ... and so I've decided to go.“

„You can't”, Martin said so quietly as if speaking to himself. “You mustn't!“, he surged forward and gripped Ulwen's shoulders, forcing the youth to look at him. „Everything depends on you!“

„That's not true“, Ulwen answered levelly. It seemed an amazingly calm answer for him but Martin could see him clenching his fists. „What's left to be done can be done by others than me.“ The mer stood up, forcing the man to let go of him and quickly stepped behind the bench, putting it deliberately between them. Martin saw his knuckles whiten as Ulwen gripped the back of the bench. „Burd of the Bruma watch knows how to close Gates now; he can close the Great Gate”, Ulwen said flatly. ”And one mer is not enough to send to Camoran's paradise. You'll need a host of soldiers for that.” Ulwen's hands left the back of the bench and he half-turned away.

„No!“ Martin darted around the bench and once again gripped Ulwen's shoulders. „You are the only one which I can entrust with closing the Great Gate!”, he said in a rush, desperate to find an argument that would make Ulwen stay. “You've closed dozens of them! Unharmed! Whereas Burd still loses men every time they enter Oblivion –“

“No surprise there”, scoffed the elf, “when he thinks that launching a frontal attack in an Oblivion-Gate is a wise choice of action.”

Despite his trepidation, Martin felt his lips twitch at this return to Ulwen's typical arrogance. Maybe he could cater to it …

“Maybe it's fate that you prevail where others fall”, he said with superimposed lightness. “Just as Camoran is Dagon's Champion, it might as well be that you are mine.” He felt his cheeks burn at that, but Ulwen's reaction pushed the sensation straight out of his mind.

„Don't you dare taking the same road with me as your old man“, the Dunmer bit out through gritted teeth and slapped his hands off his shoulders. „Just last night you said there wasn't a divine plan to our actions and now you're trying to tell me that there is such a thing after all?“ In the semi-darkness of the room only his eyes and teeth were glowing, giving him a more than usual demonic appearance.

Ice formed in Martin's stomach. “I'm not a hypocrite”, he said despondently. „I'm just not sure what to believe any more; when there is a Daedric Prince involved who can guess who else is playing a part in this game?“, he tried to explain but Ulwen's look only got darker.

Martin turned away abruptly and walked over to a small bedside cabinet, leaving the youth standing where he was and giving himself some space to think. “There is a reason why you, of all people, continue to excel on the way to the Amulet”, he continued to churn out arguments while crouching down and rummaging around in the back of the cabinet. He cringed inwardly at the begging undertone in his voice but saw no other way but to go through with his plea. “I _feel_ that it's important that we're _both_ on the battlefield the day after tomorrow.“ He came back to where Ulwen stood and looked him in the eyes. „You belong at my side“, he stated.

 

It took his breath away.

If Martin had planned to shut him up he had been successful, Ulwen thought grudgingly and tried to come up with any reply at all. He watched as Martin sat down again on the bench and held out a silver goblet to him. He took it, sulking, and sat down again because his knees were shaking and waited for the man to pour out some wine.

Martin poured some for himself, then raised his goblet to a silent toast and took a deep draught. He shuddered. Ulwen looked puzzled into his drink and sipped it.

„Shein!“, he said surprised. „I thought there was a ban on it in Cyrodiil ...“ He took another sip and kept it in his mouth, savouring the fruity and sour aroma of the Comberry wine. Images of long lost days at the Bittercoast came back to him, unbidden and painful. He swallowed and felt heat spread through his belly.

„I was going to save it for our victory celebration“, Martin said wistfully before he stowed the flask unceremoniously under the bench. “But who knows if we'll survive the day after tomorrow.”

 _'If I go now, he will let me'_ , Ulwen realized. _'He can't force me to stay and he knows and dreads it.'_ But he couldn't move. Either way he thought of was equally dreadful – leaving Martin and not knowing what became of him or staying and never be truly with him. It was an impossible choice.

„Why do you really want to leave?“

Martin's words tore him out of his musings and made him look at the man. Martin himself was watching the brazier and Ulwen quickly looked down again. It made speaking easier.

“Do you really have to ask?”, he said, hoping to shirk the embarrassment of admitting aloud, what they both knew already. Looking up again, he saw that Martin's face had taken on a grim cast, but the man didn't say anything nor did he look away from the brazier. He sighed. “It's about what I wanted the first night after our arrival here.”

„My affection“, Martin concluded and somehow managed to sound both sympathetic and amused.

Ulwen's anger failed to raise to the bait and his sense of humour took over. „Yes.“ He smiled bitterly. „From a human.“

„And even though you knew who I am.“

„Most will say: _Because_ I knew who you are.“

Martin looked at him solemnly. „I choose to believe the first. It shows a certain romantic trait.“ He waited a few seconds for an answer and continued as Ulwen did not respond. „The reason why I declined that first offer and every one ever since is that it is not my place to make such a commitment. As the Emperor I must father children and I will be a proper father to them. And a proper husband to my wife.“ He sounded resolved. „Once I'm crowned I will have my hands full to keep the Empire together and bring peace into the Provinces. As the Champion of Cyrodiil – as _my_ champion – you would be an essential ally in those endeavours, but you could never be more.“

Ulwen still didn't respond, but idly played with the goblet in his hands, tilting it this way and that, watching purple lights flicker in the liquid within. He felt Martin shift at his side as the Imperial propped his elbow onto the back of the bench and watched him intently, hand buried in his long brown hair.

„And there you are“, he said softly. „Being romantic and asking for a life-time when you could be dead tomorrow or in a thousand years from now.“

„What's wrong with wanting to belong to someone?“ Ulwen asked defensively.

„Nothing. But the way you choose leads only to pain sooner or later and I am not cruel.“

„And keeping me close as your errant boy isn't cruel at all?“

A pause. „I'm only human.“

Ulwen thought about that. „So you're saying, in your incoherent, human way, is that if we're going to be together it'll be on your terms or none at all?“

„I'm saying“, Martin answered equally soft, „that this is all we can ever have: a flight through the countryside, a fight side by side and some hours in the dead of night.“

„Nothing to gain.“

„And nothing to lose.“

Ulwen drained his glass. „Here's to cruelty“, he said bitterly and leaned forward.

 

The first kiss tasted like Shein.

Martin was surprised at the sudden movement and nearly withdrew, but Ulwen had placed a hand on his thigh and the heat of the limb was keeping him in place. His lips opened for the questioning tongue, letting in the fruity taste of fermented Comberries that came with it. He hadn't drunk much of the wine and he knew instantly that he would never be able to saviour it again without thinking of this moment. Heat shot through him, cumulating in his groin, as he tilted his head to the side, moved his hands forward and drew the young Dunmer to him.

Their tongues battled for a moment for dominance until he gave in. A hand had circled around his waist, the other was sliding up his back to bury itself in his hair as he likewise brought his hands up to loosen the ponytail that kept Ulwen's shoulder-length hair in check. They broke apart to gasp for air, he saw the wanton look the other gave him and shivered with the answering tingling that made his body ache. Ulwen leaned in again and this time the kiss tasted of mer, mixed with wanting, magic and lust. The kneading hands withdrew along with the mouth and Martin opened his eyes in time to see the youth flinging away his shirt. It landed next to the brazier, not on it, thankfully, and Martin's eyes were drawn to the muscular chest, away from the burning eyes. He saw hardening nipples and a fine sheen of sweat already, then his attention was drawn to Ulwen's fingers, which were working his robe.

„Let me“, he breathed and Ulwen withdrew but came back again to claim his mouth and to shove him backwards against the armrest of the bench. He felt the other's arousal through the thick cotton on his thigh. „The bed!“, he croaked and pushed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Why did Martin partake in the Bruma battle?!_
> 
> Since canon-divergency is not my thing, I can do little more than point out ideas and why they did not come to pass. I have a hunch that the Blades' respect for the Last Septim is too great and prevents Jauffre from just kidnapping and shipping him away to safety. Royalty on earth has an aura of divinity and that is so much more the case in the Elder Scrolls universe, where Martin is the last descendant of a historically known God. So going against his explicit wishes might just be too much for any Blade.  
> There is also the gift of prophecy that several Septims had - Uriel Septim VII at the start of the game as most prominent example - and which might have pushed Martin into partaking in the Battle. If I want to lean out of the window very far I could even propose that Martin might have hoped for a Divine Intervention on Bruma's behalf, if he was there to entice Talos to take notice. There have been hints in canon for that as well - the Prophet in the "Knights of the Nine"-DLC and the old man in Morrowind, who gave the Nerevarine a lucky coin before his fight with Dagoth Ur.  
> And last, taking Martin out of Cyrodiil would not have been a wise choice of action. The Oblivion Crisis needed three factors to come together to be ended and one of these three is geologicially bound - the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. Martin in hiding would have meant a life on the move, always in danger of pursuit and assassination and even "normal" dangers like wild animals and illness and age. In the meantime Camoran would have had plenty of time to dig himself in and to bring the Plane-melt about. Once that was accomplished it would have been impossible to seperate Nirn/Tamriel from Mehrune Dagon's plane of Oblivion. Time is playing into Camoran's hands.
> 
> _Why is the Champion of Cyrodiil still there?_
> 
> The CoC either likes playing errant boy/girl for the future Emperor, has an obsessive-controlling nature or has other reasons. At the latest after showing Captain Burd of Bruma how to close Gates the Champion was not really necessary anymore. S/He might have taken up the fight elsewhere, or shown other cities to close Gates and whatnot. So, I came up with Ulwen being a romantic, wanting to belong to someone and having chosen that someone to be Martin.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The morning of the day of the Battle of Bruma dawned with the sun glittering excruciatingly bright on the glaziers surrounding the ancient stronghold which was the temporarily home to Tamriel's future Emperor. His Blades had been out and about for hours already, putting on armour, sharpening weapons, doing some light training to loosen their muscles and hone their bodies for the oncoming fight. They were nervous and none of them dared to think what was at stake if luck should desert them today. A tight-lipped Jauffre had gathered them an hour ago for a prayer to Akatosh and Talos and was now issuing his last orders.

„There is too much at stake as if we could not make the maximum effort to protect our Lord. Jena, Belisarius, Cyrus and Achille – you stay here and man the walls. The rest comes with me. Ready yourself“, he ordered and walked over to the four Blades who stood dejected in the hustle and bustle of suddenly very busy soldiers.

„Don't pull such faces“, he ordered them, not unkindly. „You will have your chance at bravery at your next assignment.“ He led them a few steps away and continue in a much quieter voice. „If the Emperor is killed today, I order you to flee to the Imperial City. Leave everything behind and take Ocato to –“, he gestured helplessly, „– to any place that deems secure. My spies tell me that Gates are opening all over Tamriel, so you'll have a hard time keeping the High Chancellor safe. But at least one part of the Empire must survive.“

„But Sir“, Jena interrupted, „why don't we bring Ocato here? Other Blades will know where to find us and we could gather forces here.“ But Jauffre shook his head.

„Cloud Ruler is a sitting duck – easy to defend, but every part as easy to besiege. Go underground, gather our allies, maybe you'll even get the Mages' Guild to help“, he added doubtfully, „but disappear from the world! Try to think in decades or centuries even: a time will come were the forces of Oblivion will cease to be vigilant, that'll be the moment to strike.“

„We can't kill a Daedric Prince“, Cyrus said darkly.

„But they can be banished“, Jauffre answered. „Search everywhere for help, pray to the Nine, stay vigilant and –“ They looked around at a commotion behind them and beheld Martin stepping out of the Temple. Clad in the Imperial Dragon Armour, sword and shield at his side and standing erect, nothing remained of the insecure priest. In a wave Blades fell to their knees around him and hailed their leader. Jauffre made his way towards him and bowed.

„Sire“, he said and gestured to two horses who where held by an awe-struck stable-boy. Both men manned the beasts and rode slowly out of Cloud Ruler Temple, followed by fifty men afoot and flying dragon banners.

Jauffre should never return.

 

At the same time Martin Septim set out to meet Countess Carvain for a last war-counsel Ulwen Hlervu left the haunted, empty halls of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. As always nowadays he felt relieved to step out into the sunlight and noise of the bustling city; _anything_ was welcome as a distraction from the phantom-pain of a family lost to his wish to belong. And in the end, he had lost his mentor as well …

He stepped through the city gates, hurried over to the paddock and saddled Shadowmere. Once he sat up, his steed jolted forward, was over the fence in one long and smooth jump and galloped along the Blue Road leading to the Imperial City as if she knew that time was short and speed essential. Her rider hung low on her neck and gripped the reigns with white-knuckled fingers.

It had sounded like a good idea to spend the night at the Sanctuary, especially since the night before last had been very short. Martin and he had bedded each other several times, finally succumbing to sleep when the sky was already brightening for the new day. Ulwen still felt a tingle surge through him when thinking about the hours spend between the other's thighs and vice versa but it had delayed his planned set-out from Cloud Ruler to late midday.

And plans he had.

Sod Martin's terms, he had decided just before kissing the man. Martin Septim could hope in vain that he'd disappear once this crisis was over or worse, the Ulwen would play the role as imperial enforcer in the provinces. He may have turned his back to Morrowind but he was still a Dunmer and felt his race's distaste for foreign rule. So, what options did he have but to show Martin his own terms?

 _Surely something less drastic,_ a small voice in his head answered but the Ulwen had been too enraged to listen.

He'd decided to go to Cheydinhal and send some of his murderers to Bruma for the incoming fight but his involvement wouldn't stop at that, he vowed.

Ulwen had grown up with reports about the Morag Tong and their government-sanctioned murders. An underground organisation that fabricated untimely demises … Here was his opportunity to force his way into Martin's future life on his own terms. He would present the new Emperor with something to remember him by and to use against his enemies. And every murder, Ulwen swore, would remind Martin of the night they had had and the future they hadn't.

The man might think himself kind but the mer had decided to be merciless.

 _You're in way over your head. The deaths today will not please Sithis for they are no murders_ , the voice reminded him.

Ulwen swept this thought away. If Sithis wasn't pleased he could made amends: there were whole cities he could lay at his God's feet if demanded.

Shadowmere slowed down a moment as they arrived at the Red Ring Road but galloped north in the next second. She was a splendid steed and a kingly present, Ulwen had known this as soon as Lachance had given her to him. Whenever he urged her to full speed it only felt as if the steed was merely loosing the restraints she had on herself the rest of the time, as if she was finally allowed to run as she pleased. Nevertheless, he cast one or two spells which should make the road easier for her, they were still on the plains after all.

 

The second course of the meal was being removed from the table and other servants approached with overflowing silver platters and bowls filled with the various meats of the third course. They went around silently, delicately selecting venison and hare which they put on to silver plates in front of the dinner guests. Still others brought pitchers of sauce or fruits. Finally, an elderly man made his third round with a pitcher and refilled every glass that needed refilling and withdrew again, bowing first to Martin and then to the Countess.

„How far progressed is the evacuation?“, Martin asked uneasy and took up his fork. He was too nervous to eat but custom and manners demanded that he ate at least a few bites out of every course to show his appreciation for the cook and his host. He also feared that he had already affronted both by rejecting a dish of blueberry-cheese-soup, forcing the Countess to forgo the soup herself, as custom demanded from her to dine as long or as little as her social superior. A slight nudge on his foot under the table had made his fault clear but Jauffre's warning had come to late. The feast had been a dreary affair so far, as all participants were too preoccupied to be amiable.

„Most citizens have left“, Narina Carvain answered.

„There are still some, though, who refuse to leave and insist to fight“, the Watch Captain offered. „Most of them are Nords, born here in Bruma, but there's also a few Bosmer and Imperials.“

„Send them away“, Jauffre ordered. „This is no place for civilians.“

„Leave them be“, Martin interjected and found himself at the centre of attention. He would never get used to this. „Nords are eloquent fighters“, he added, „and every citizen who thinks himself worthy deserves the chance to defend his home.“

„They won't know how to fight in order. Many a great victory was forfeited because a few undisciplined fighters broke ranks.“

Burd shook his head. „I know them. Many of them are in the militia and have helped us to close Gates before.“

„So be it“, Martin said. „We will need every sword anyway and knowing that they defend their homes will make them all the more ferocious in battle. It'll be hard enough as it is to make the other soldiers understand why they should lay down their life in a strange land and for an unfamiliar cause.“

„It's a just cause!“ Baurus thumped his fist on the table.

„Not for them, I fear“, said Burd reasonably. „Most of them have never been outside their own counties. It's hard for them to understand why they should defend other people's homes when there's danger at their own doorstep, especially if they are from Leyawiin.“

„Yes“, confirmed the Countess darkly. „Caro has only sent a dozen swords.“

Martin pushed his plate away. „I'm not hungry any more“

The Countess clapped her hands loudly. „Dessert“, she ordered.

 

„Steady“, Ulwen said lowly and brought a small vial to Shadowmere's muzzle. The steed shied away but didn't break free of his hold. She was shivering and sweating profusely and dripping blood from a deep gash at her side. He stroked her neck and tried to calm her enough to administer the healing potion. Once again he cursed himself for never having taken the effort to learn more than the most basic healing spells but then again, he rarely travelled with anyone and had to save lives even less. Shadowmere whinnied in a small voice but finally held still and Ulwen gave her the potion. „Stupid horse“, he said affectionately and watched the wound close itself.

Dead Xivilai lay around them and the remnants of one or two Atronarchs. An Oblivion Gate had opened overnight at the crossroads of Orange and Silver Road and the Daedra guarding it had ambushed them as soon as they came into sight. For a few hours at least this place would be peaceful now but Ulwen lacked the time to jump into the Gate and close it. He wondered whether he should leave a warning for the next wanderer but in the end just kicked the severed head of a Xivilai down the Silver Road which was less protected and winding steeply. Then he mounted Shadowmere again.

„Make haste!“ he urged her and she flew away.

They had been making good speed, Ulwen reflected, until they came across the Gate and now time was running short again! He felt dreadful to have her gallop up the climbing path towards Bruma but slowing down would mean being ambushed by bears or ogres. At least she would have rest once they arrived at their destination whereas his labours would only begin.

He routinely checked his bow and his quiver of arrows – all poisoned – and let his hand rest briefly on the reassuring coldness of the Blade of Woe. He had already donned the Dark Armour when leaving Cheydinhal, only a travelling cloak disguised the tell-tale signs on it. He was ready, as were his murderers, who one by one appeared from their hiding places along the last half mile before the city.

 

„Soldiers of Cyrodiil“, Martin cried and paced up and down the first rank. „Today is the day …“ He was nervous beyond measure. This was his first battle, this was the first army he would lead. His gaze flickered again over the less than six hundred fighters and archers, hoping against hope that he would spot Ulwen Hlervu.

He felt the soldier's unrest. Word had already spread that the Hero of Kvatch was conspicuous by absence and he knew that Jauffre had hastily given order that a small contingent of soldiers and Blades led by Burd should invade the Great Gate if Ulwen didn't arrive in time. But Martin was sure the Dunmer would come, he knew that destiny or divine plan willed him to be here. The only thing he, Martin, had to do was to give his best to rally the soldiers' spirits until his champion would arrive. The Gate behind him flickered to life and he turned around.

„Steady yourself“, he cried. „Here they come!“

 

The sky had been growing darker and darker over the last minutes and Ulwen fancied he could hear the rolling thunder over Shadowmere's hooves. Then the screams started up and he knew that the Battle of Bruma had begun. He nudged Shadowmere to even more haste, rounded a corner and saw it! Two Gates were already open and the third, the really big one, shot just out of the ground like talons clawing upwards at the sky. Around it the battle was in full flow: arrows and magic missiles shot to and fro, lines of soldiers and beasts were clashing but the battle order was still standing. He screamed at Shadowmere to run faster, directed her around the outskirts of the battlefield to reach the front of the cyrodilic forces. Daedra which were in the way were blasted or trampled down – he needed a clear path!

He saw a flicker of gold; that was Martin surrounded by enemies and allies alike, their eyes met for an instant but the man was drawn into a fight with Daedroths that had broken through the ranks of Skingrad and Anvil soldiers.

“Protect the Emperor”, he screamed to his murderers and rode on. Praying like he never prayed before, Ulwen jumped from Shadowmere's back and ran towards the Great Gate. Light flickered between the Gate-posts, fire erupted and the portal was there. Dremora and Xivilai, Spider-Daedra and Clannfears alike began pouring out from behind the fiery screen, efficiently blocking nearly all of the Gate. He shouldered a Clannfear away, slashed his Blade at a Xivilai's unprotected midriff, screamed an invisibility spell, took a jump and vanished from the world.

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, the End. I have not much to add now - the ending of this might seem very abrupt, but the story was always planned as a kind of interlude, something that took place during a short time-span and between Martin, the Hero of Kvatch and, further, Jauffre. No change in history, no canon-divergency. Martin will die. Ulwen will be left alone. Maybe he'll heal.
> 
> Jauffre's pep-talk to the Blades at the start of this chapter might come across as weird when reading my comments on the last chapter. But there is still some truth in what he says: As soon as changes have become the status quo, vigilance usually ceases and the guardians of said sq become careless and neglectful of their duties.  
> Also, through the ages and various Empires that have existed the Gods have more than once interferred on some new Emperor's behalf. The Amulet of Kings has been lost several times in the past and has reappeared when the time was rife for a new Empire. So maybe waiting for a few hundred years is not a bad decision after all.
> 
> About those numbers.  
> I know that the number of soldiers at the Great Gate of Bruma was determined by what was technically possible and not what was to be expected. So I tweaked the numbers up and let nearly all Blades take part. The militia is really a thing, though! They appear on the battlefield if the player has collected to few allies from the other cities.
> 
> I hope you liked the story. I would love to hear your thoughts on it and, as always, if you find some errors (spelling, grammar, lore) don't hesitate to point them out to me. =)
> 
> =========================== Deleted Scene ==================================
> 
> He had counted the knotholes on the wooden panels across the floor for the fourth time already, always coming up with another total, but Captain Steffan wasn't annoyed by it. Serving as a Blade, and lately as one of the personal bodyguards of the Emperor, meant that one had to keep one's mind occupied whilst being alert for hours on end. He still had several hours to go until his relief so he tried to keep himself awake and distracted from the voices filtering through the thin wooden door to his left.  
> It had sounded like heavy arguing a while back and his hand still remained on his sword hilt in case he had to burst into the chambers to defend his Emperor. Martin and Ulwen seemed to get along well enough but one could never be too sure with Dunmer – they were an aggressive lot. There were other rumours, too, of Daedra worship and Dark Elf promiscuity … He didn't know if they were true, but there had been some talk in the barracks these past few days and his mind always went blank when trying to picture what was being said.  
> 'No smoke without fire', his late mother used to say and there had been some signs in the last time that hinted that the relationship between the Emperor and the Hero of Kvatch wasn't only on terms of employment. Jauffre's strained voice and rigid composure for example whenever Ulwen Hlervu was around. Or the fact that he had spend the last night in the emperor's bedchamber. True, Martin hadn't been in there but the way they acted around each other made one wonder.  
> The dull murmuring had stopped again and Steffan relaxed a fraction, thinking up a new pattern he could use to count the knotholes when he heard other noises. Wet noises and something like … panting. He panicked. Surely they knew he was standing guard out here? Cold sweat broke out as he heard Martin say something that sounded like 'bed' and heard a heavy and soft thump afterwards. He willed it to go away but was horrified as soon after definite moans and sighs came drifting out of the room.  
> This was nothing he felt prepared for! He quickly retreated down the corridor to take up post at the stairs leading down into the Great Hall and the barracks. He urgently prayed that Jauffre wouldn't go to bed too soon.


End file.
